


A’ole he keiki

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [12]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Curtain Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 04:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10631964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: Nahele is a square peg in a round hole. So… he’ll fit in well with his new ‘ohana.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: slash, G.  
> Warning: can’t think of any  
> Spoilers: none  
> Notes:  
> 1\. Sentinel AU fusion with a different socio-political universe to canon –‘Uhane verse.  
> 2\. British English spelling  
> 3\. Fluffy curtain fic  
> Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit (yes, I am old school).  
> Beta: The Glorious Springwoof – thank you, Babe.

**A’ole he keiki**  
By sealie 

“So, George--” in the rear-view mirror, Danny could see his toddler, secure in his padded car seat in the back of the Chevrolet, “--you’re going to meet a new member of our ‘ohana today.” 

George’s head came up like a hunting dog’s. 

“Baby?”

“Nope,” Danny said, as they turned on to Piikoi Street. 

“Not a baby,” George said sadly. He let out a heartfelt sigh, and flopped in his car seat. 

“Nahele is a few years older than Grace,” Danny explained. 

“Not a baby.” 

Danny grinned, George’s obsession with babies, apart from Chin and Malia’s baby girl for some bizarre reason, was very cute. As long as he didn’t steal them from supermarkets -- it had only happened once. 

“We’re going to have a barbeque.” Danny slowed right down; kids played on Piikoi Street. “Everyone is going to meet Nahele.”

“‘Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind,” George informed Danny seriously. “New ‘ohana?”

“Yep. New ‘ohana,” Danny confirmed. 

George pondered. “Baby got left behind?” 

“Sort of….” Danny parsed that toddler logic. He supposed that Nahele had been left behind, when his mom had died, and his father had disappeared. And now he had a new ‘ohana. 

“Party?” George kicked at the back of Danny’s seat. “For not-a-baby?” 

“Yes, we’re having a barbeque.” Danny turned onto their drive. They had no visitors just yet. 

“Gracie?” George fumbled with his criss-cross seatbelt. 

“George,” Danny said warningly. 

George lifted up his hands in the classic _wasn’t me, boss._

“Grace is out with Lucy,” Danny explained for maybe the third time. “They’ll be coming around after the movie.” 

Danny gently brought the truck to a stop by the Camaro. Clambering out, he went straight to the backseat to release George from his torture. George already had his hands on the button.

“George.” 

“Naughty George,” the toddler said. 

“You know the rules, you don’t touch that button.” 

“Naughty George.” Repentant, George’s bottom lip wobbled. How could he reprimand his son in the face of so much abject misery? 

“Naughty George indeed.” Danny freed his son from his bonds. “Don’t touch that button.” 

George kicked ecstatically – free! 

Danny set the toddler on his hip. A little palm immediately gripped his collar. Danny felt a knot in the back of his neck loosen. He sauntered around the outside of the house heading straight to the back yard, and the lanai. 

“Who’s dat?” George asked suspiciously. 

While Steve was trapped on the sofa with his broken ankle raised, Nahele had been given the important job of manning the barbeque. It was a position of honour. Rarely, never, had Steve handed over the barbeque tongs to anyone other than Danny. Currently, Nahele was in charge of lighting the coals. Steve had given him a list of instructions. The kid had accepted them with grace beyond his years. 

The teenager straightened. He smiled, uncertainly. 

“George, this is Nahele.” Danny joggled his kid. 

“Baby?” George persisted. 

“Nahele,” Danny explained. 

“Hello, George.” Nahele crouched down a fraction so he could look George straight in the eye. 

“Not a baby,” George said. “‘Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind.” 

“Yes, we’re ‘ohana,” Nahele said a little uncertainly. And added, “Steve says.” 

George beamed like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Danny basked in the warmth. 

Nahele blinked. 

“Hah!” George leaned far out of Danny’s hold, hands grasping. 

“Oh.” Danny obediently handed George across to Nahele. 

The kid accepted the toddler, clearly experienced with little ones, and held him close. George plastered his hand directly over Nahele’s heart. 

“Guide,” George intoned with profound satisfaction. 

Nahele chuckled, a low, rich relaxed sound. The air of sudden content rolled over Danny, as Nahele projected amusement and happiness. The kid had been as prickly as the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof since escaping ‘Aina. Danny didn’t blame him, but it made him a little uncomfortable to be around at times. Relaxation of his wariness was a gift. 

“You’re a little monster, aren’t you?” Nahele tickled George’s tummy

George rocked back in his hold and, arms out-flung, laughed at the heavens. 

Was Nahele George’s guide? Danny wondered. _Holy shit_. 

“Man, your guide is going to have her work cut out for her,” Nahele said conversationally, as he juggled George. 

“Her?” Danny couldn’t help ask. 

“Yes,” Nahele seemed to be checking his own words, his eyes fixed on some spot miles and miles away. “Kānaka maoli. Coppery, dark brown hair. Kind of little. I think she might be about the same age?” 

He hefted George a little higher up against his chest. The toddler patted his cheeks, stretched up and rubbed their noses together. Nahele huffed out another laugh. 

Nahele seemed comfortable with toddlers, or toddlers were comfortable with Nahele, which told Danny everything that he needed to know about Nahele (which he knew already). Kind of a weird skill, though, Danny pondered. If Nahele could identify a sentinel’s guide they had to keep that fact a secret – yet, another secret. Danny didn’t even know how to classify this one. Arles, the Sentinel Guidefinder, theoretically, had a skill at finding guides for sentinels, but Danny hadn’t give the mechanics a millisecond of consideration. 

“Mine. Mine. Mine,” George chanted. 

Nahele cocked a questioning eyebrow at Danny. 

“He means Steve.” 

“MINE!” George crowed at the top of his voice. Nahele froze, stunned as if sacked by a three hundred pound linebacker. 

“Whoa,” Nahele breathed. 

“Yes, he’s kind of loud,” Danny said. “No volume control.” 

“Uhm, yeah, sort of… _whoa_. Let’s get you to your Steve.”

Danny had left Steve on the sofa and had hidden his crutches. The doofus was aware that they were back, Danny could tell. One, they weren’t quiet, and, two, Steve always knew who was in his bailiwick. Steve could entertain George while he and Nahele finished the party prep. 

“Down, please.” George wriggled down Nahele’s side, and the teen had no choice but to set him on the ground. 

Sandals slapping, George raced off. 

“Mine, I’m coming!” 

“I know!” Steve hollered from inside the house. 

George outright cackled. Nahele’s jaw dropped. He stood perfectly still. 

“So you pick up impressions of sentinel’s guides often?” Danny asked, in the face of that stunned expression. 

“Uhm… no? I haven’t met a lot of sentinels?” 

Danny was germinating some thoughts about the psychic abilities of guides, and sentinels.He thought less on the sentinels’ thirteenth sense. Largely, their abilities weren’t clear cut, definable, they were more about sensing the ineffable. 

It was more than annoying. 

“Hello, the house,” Chin called out. 

Danny could tell that he was laden down with his contributions to the barbeque. Chin was always too generous; it was in his nature. Malia was juggling Little K. 

“Nahele, can you give Chin a hand? I’ll go corral George, and check on Steve.” 

“Of course, Sentinel Williams.” 

Danny let the kid escape, and didn’t correct. Nahele would, he hoped, relax. It would take time. He had been ripped from his home when his mother had died, struggled in a group home, and been sent to ‘Aina. On paper it didn’t seem bad: a nascent guide had been identified and placed in the perfect environment. Yet, Nahele, like Steve when he had been a kid, had known that he was different, and had to hide. In the land of the different and sheltered, Nahele had been an anomaly. 

“Kiss it better?” George said.

Danny laughed as he kicked off his loafers by the lanai door and sauntered through the dining room. 

George was carefully kissing the corner of Steve’s eyebrow, missing the healing cut on Steve’s forehead by a mile. Steve kept George steady, as he perched on tiptoes on the edge of the sofa, with a large hand under his padded, diapered butt. 

“Better?” George asked. 

“Yes, thank you,” Steve said graciously. 

“Good,” George said with profound satisfaction. “Look, Danno, Mine’s better.” 

“Good. Bleug—“ Danny froze. He had stepped on something wet and gooey. “Holy Shit. Ewwww.” 

Mouse guts. Bloody partly digested mouse guts -- no. no. no -- a freshly, eviscerated mouse. 

“Oh, my…”

“Oh? Hah, Diamond left it just for you.” Steve leaned back on the sofa, and smiled, sublimely. 

“Why the Hell didn’t you clean it up?” Danny lurched away from the present, keeping his toes off the ground. 

“Oh, well,” Steve said insincerely, “I’m being a good little obedient guide staying on the couch. As Nahele said, _Sentinel Williams said I can’t give you your crutches_.” 

“You could have asked the kid to clean it up!” Danny hopped to the kitchen. 

“Nah,” Steve drawled. 

“What did Diamond do?” George asked. Steve kept him on the couch rather than letting him come and inspect the corpse. George would probably lick it. He would definitely poke it. 

“It’s a present for Danno from Diamond.” 

“Kitten presentes?”

“Presents,” Steve corrected. 

On his tiptoes, Danny stuck his entire foot under the tap, and turned it on hot. He shuddered and gagged a little as he scrubbed his foot with the dish sponge. 

Finally clean, and top layer of skin removed, he dried his foot. Grabbing, a handful of rags from under the sink and the homemade borax with vinegar disinfectant he padded back into the front room. George sat on Steve’s tummy, bouncing as Steve flexed his muscles. 

“Danno!” he carolled as if he hadn’t seen him in an age. 

“Really, Steve.” Crouching, Danny scooped up the remains, fur, blood and guts, and then liberally sprayed the mess. He was going to have to polish the floor after the barbeque. 

“Benched.” Steve pointed at his foot on the cushion. He grinned again. 

“You could have warned me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve lifted an eyebrow.

“Is everything okay?” Nahele held a large bowl of Hawaiian salad. 

“Steve just being Steve.” 

“Okay?” Nahele side-stepped Danny. He lifted the bowl up a fraction. “I’m just gonna put this in the fridge.” 

“Mouse--” George descended into giggles as Steve tickled his ribs. 

“Good idea refrigerating the salad until the barbeque,” Steve said. “Did he bring his famous rice salad?” 

“I haven’t seen any?” 

“Rice has a large surface area with respect to volume,” Science Steve said. 

_Why the lecture?_ Danny wondered. 

_::Don’t let Nahele see the dead mouse::_

“It’s a perfect vehicle for bacterial growth,” Steve continued. 

“I’ll make sure that it’s kept in the fridge.” Nahele escaped from the insane adults. 

“What?” Danny mouthed. 

Steve cocked his finger and thumb at Danny and mimed a gunshot. 

Danny dropped a second cloth on the covered bloody mess. 

“So you hadn’t actually seen the present until I stepped on it.” Danny gathered up his supplies and the present. 

“Nah. I’ve been sitting here, bored, bored, bored.” 

“You had a book,” Danny tossed over his shoulder as he went back to the kitchen, “and the tv remote, and your e-tablet.” 

“Bored.”

“Bored!” George echoed, and dissolved into further giggles. 

Danny left them to it, deciding he wouldn’t give Steve his crutches until after the party started. 

             ~*~

“Excellent, my little minion.” 

♥ George beamed. ♥

George dragged one of Steve’s crutches across the wooden floor. Jokes and teasing aside, Steve had no intention of ignoring their doctors’ advice. He wanted to be able to run in the future. Staying off his ankle was part of that recovery. Even if it was boring. He wanted to tear off his skin with his fingernails. He had to demand a brace he could swim in at the next check-up. Keeping his entire foot off the ground was strangely exhausting. 

“Two crutches.” Steve held up two fingers. 

“One crutches,” George grinned. 

Danny had hidden the second crutch elsewhere. 

One crutch would help him hop outside to where the action was concentrated.

“One crutch.” Steve held up one finger. “Two crutches.” 

“One crutch, two crutch, three crutch, four!” George sang, echoing his new, favourite counting book. 

“One crutch, two crutches, three crutches, four crutches!” Steve sang right back at him, holding a new finger up in time with his words. 

George froze, his mouth opening in a soundless ‘o’ of understanding. 

“Many crutches!” Understanding, he lit up like a lightbulb. 

“Man, I wish I had my camera,” Kono said. 

“One day, I’m going to figure out your YouTube password and delete your account.” Steve craned around to glare at Kono. Toast refused to hack Kono’s channel. 

“I can’t believe you co-opted a two year old to get you off the sofa,” Kono said, ignoring his comment. 

“Would you like to retrieve my second crutch from upstairs?” Steve asked. 

“No. nope, I‘m not going there. Danny’s a force of nature.” 

“Hmmm.” Steve reached out and snagged his crutch from George’s willing hands. “Thanks, kiddo.” 

♥♥♥♥♥

Steve levered to his feet, stiff from forced sofa surfing, and curled his foot under him, and hop-lurched past Kono, with George skipping along at his heels. 

“Your colour is better,” Kono observed. 

Huh? 

“I know you hate the forced inactivity, but you look better,” Kono said. 

Hmmm. 

“Whathematta?” George tumbled through all the words. 

Steve contemplated the little sentinel, rocking unevenly on his feet, sandals scuffling. 

“Nothing that won’t keep.” Balancing, he reached down and messed up George’s cornstalk hair. 

George beamed utter, utter love. 

The party preparation was almost complete, even though Steve knew that as the guests arrived they would bring even more food. He clocked Adam helping Chin at the food table. There was a tub filled with ice dotted with long necked bottles of organic Pale Ale and Lala Beer.

“Aloha kakahiaka,” Kahuna Kila called out, as if Steve’s ponderings had called him into being. Kila’s four year old son preceded him around the house. 

“Uncle Danny!” 

“Ford!” Danny crouched ready to greet the ball of energy. 

“You’re safe!” Ford barrelled into him. “You came back! Daddy said you’d come back. He said he was told.”

Steve crutch-hopped over to Malia on the summer sofa, and dropped next to her. She was nursing Little K. The curve of the baby’s head was sweet, as she snuffled, feeding happily. Malia smiled at Steve. 

“Really?” Danny was saying. “Your daddy is a wise man.” 

“Yes.” Ford squinted at him. “You gotta black eye. You got two black eyes.” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

Ford grinned toothily. “Did you punch him? Did you?” 

Danny was hardly going to give a five and a half year old details. 

“He won’t be punching anyone again,” Danny said with perfect honesty. 

“Kobo,” Ford said, and offered Danny his tiny fist, for a fist-bump. 

“Violence is not always the answer, Ford,” his dad said. 

“Yes,” Danny said seriously, as he fist-bumped, “your daddy is right.” 

Ford let out a belaboured sigh. 

“How are you, Steve?” Malia asked. 

“Fine,” Steve said. 

She shifted Little K off her nipple, and onto her shoulder, cloth already prepared and patted the baby’s back. Little K let out a respectable burp. 

“Nice one.” Steve gently stroked the baby’s perfectly smooth cheek with his rough fingertip. She blinked at him and scrunched up her button nose. 

“Would you like to hold Kono?” Malia said as she passed the baby over without waiting for a yay or nay, in the way that mothers always did. 

There was a moment of trepidation, less than a fraction of a second, but he had become more confident at handling little people since Danny had burst into his life. He had first met Chin and Malia’s baby girl when she was less than a day old, and she had been an irresistible pocketful of love. 

She had been so small. 

George clambered up next to Steve as he got Little K correctly situated in the cradle of his arm. He had to make sure that she was sitting up and could see her mom, otherwise there might be a little bit of griping. She smiled gummily and Steve could see that she had a brand new, pearlescent tooth. George eyed the interloper, as he plopped down on Steve’s free thigh. 

“Mine,” George said meaningfully. 

“I’m your daddy’s guide. Danno’s guide.” 

“Still mine,” George said not arguing. 

“Steve.” Nahele set a crate upside down by Steve’s feet and set a cushion on top. 

“Thanks.” Steve levered his foot onto the rest. He was so going to have to get a swimming cast fitted the next time he went to the orthopaedist. He needed to get out into the quiet bay like he needed to drink water. 

“The coals are hot enough, should I start the burgers now?” Nahele asked. 

“Nahele,” Danny interrupted. “I’d like to introduce you to Kila, he’s a Kahuna La'au Lapa'au.”

For once Danny pronounced the words correctly. The respect in his voice rang true and solid. 

Kila came carefully into Nahele’s orbit, reading the kid’s skittishness. He spoke softly, for Nahele alone. They were a similar height, Kila shorter than average, and Nahele still growing, on the cusp of a growth spurt. Nahele brought his forehead to brush against the Kahuna’s, noses lightly touching. He let out a profoundly relieved sigh. Steve, equally, felt the comfort like a warm balm. 

Kila, Kahuna La'au Lapa'au, was going to be good for Nahele. Kila would be able to share the teachings of their home that Steve couldn’t quite grasp, despite being born on O’ahu, and Danny was either oblivious to or determined to ignore. 

“What they doin’?” George asked. 

“Honi,” Steve explained, not wanting to co-opt Kila from Nahele, even though it was better the kahuna’s role. “It’s a greeting. They’re exchanging the breath of life -- ha. It’s very important and precious.” 

“Honi,” George repeated, trying out the word. 

He shifted on Steve’s thigh, and Steve knew what the kid was going to try next. Steve angled Little K away from George’s feet as the toddler climbed him like a tree. George got right in close, pressing his forehead against Steve’s and staring right into his eyes. He breathed like Thomas the Tank Engine going up a steep hill. The little boy smelled of apples and oranges and talcum powder dusted with honey. 

“I likes it,” George said, profoundly satisfied, noses brushing. 

“It’s pretty cool,” Steve said, face to face, eye to eye. It was hard not to smile. 

“Cool,” George echoed. He wriggled ecstatically and Steve kept him steady holding onto the straps of his dungaree shorts. “Next!” he said imperiously, and stretched out to Malia. 

Laughing, Malia hauled him across to exchange greetings. 

“Looks like George is going to do honi with everyone,” Steve told Little K as the baby gnawed on her thumb. 

“Honi.” Kila laughed, and crouched to help the toddler. “This represents the exchange of ha, the breath of life, and mana, spiritual power…”

             ~*~

Nahele was in his element. The kid liked cooking or he liked having something to do during the gathering. Possibly, it was both. Danny was getting a ‘feeder’ vibe, and an innate need to look after people, which wasn’t necessarily a guide thing. He was also eating which was absolutely the best thing that had happened all week. 

Ah, they had another visitor. Danny bounced to his feet, and headed off around the side of the house. Oddly, there was only one person walking up the drive towards Steve’s Morning Glory blossom-covered gate. 

“Mossarat.” He waved at the young doctor. 

“Hi, Danny, can I come in?”

“Yep, gate’s unlocked.” A small child could climb over the gate. But even if Mossarat barely topped five foot, she was wearing what looked like fine silk trousers, gathered at the ankle but flaring out, and they looked like they would easily catch on any edge. The trousers matched her delicately embroidered tunic. 

She handed across a woven basket of goodies, as she reached over to flick the latch on the inside of the gate. 

“Oooh.” Danny smelled baked goods: sugar; condensed milk; cashews; almonds; cinnamon and other ingredients that he didn’t immediately recognise. Saffron? Another scent was woody and burnt. 

“Sohan Halwa and Papdi, Rasgulla, Balushahi Shai – I think that you’ll like Balushahi – and Burfi.”

“Which is?” Danny lifted up the fine cloth covering the treasures. Each sweet and pocket of baked loveliness had their own delicate paper holder. 

“The donuts. They’re on the top.”

“You know me so well.” He didn’t need sentinel eyes to spot the treat. Danny snatched up the sweet. He bit in, and the texture was crispy and fluffy, and melt in the mouth delicious. “W’r yu oth’ vampri?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Danny swallowed and licked his lips. 

“Where’s Dr. Grumpy and Dr. I-should-be-a-model.” 

Mossarat bit her bottom lip to stop from smiling. 

“Elias needed Connor to help him with something.” She pondered a moment, before adding, delicately, “I think that it was man related, and I didn’t inquire. I left my car on Elias’ drive and walked over. I guessed parking would be at a premium.” 

Dr. Elias Bundaberg lived a few streets over, which had come as something of a surprise since Steve’s family had lived on Piikoi Street for generations and he had never encountered the old doctor. 

“How are you?” Dr. Mossarat Chohan peered up at him. He could see her cataloguing the purples and greens around his eyes. 

“Healing,” Danny said honestly. 

“And Steve?” Mossy asked as they wandered up the path. 

“Also healing. But his broken ankle--” Danny licked his fingers, “--is gonna drive him up the proverbial wall.” 

“Explosions on the horizon?” 

“Oh, they’re closer than that.” 

Mossarat snorted. 

Kono and Adam were entertaining Ford and George on the sand with buckets and spades. The sandcastle promised not to be a castle, but some significantly more complex. Steve had, once again, managed to get his mitts on Little K and wasn’t letting anyone hold the baby girl. It was deeply unfair. Malia seemed quite content with the plate of food that Nahele had offered her, and was happily waving the knife and fork in her hands at Chin, and mouthing _cutlery_. 

Danny didn’t ask, figuring it had something to do with rarely having a hand free when looking after a baby. 

Chin and Kila were arguing over the music selection. 

It was a nice group of people. Just enough for a good gathering without being overpowering for the new member of their little clique. 

“Hey, ‘Hele. This is Mossarat, you met her when we first came to ‘Aina. Mossy, you remember Nahele?” 

“Of course. Hello, Nahele.” 

“Hi.” Nahele smiled sweetly. “Would you like a burger?” 

“What sort do you have?” she asked. 

“Beef?” He slid a checking glance at Steve. 

“All beef.” Steve made a thumbs up. “There’s plain, 100% beef, and chilli, I got them from the organic shop on Kalakaua.” 

Kono lifted her head up, figured out that she wasn’t needed and went back to playing pat-a-cake with Ford. 

“ _I_ got?” Danny said pointedly. 

“You’ll want to stay away from the bratwurst. Nahele’s made sure that they’ve stayed on the left hand side of the barbeque.” Steve shifted, carefully, cognizant of the sleeping baby cupped along the length of his forearm. “What’s in the basket?” 

“Dessert.” Danny set Mossarat’s offerings on the table in the centre of the lanai. They had more than enough food. They would be snacking on bbq for lunches and dinner for the next few days. 

“I’ll have a chilli burger, please.” 

“Pick a roll.” Nahele gestured with his tongs at the assortment of fresh baked breads, in a bowl beside the condiments. 

“We’ve got veggie burgers,” Steve said. “Herby tomato, garbanzo and mozzarella cheese or Teriyaki tempeh. Salmon, also, and jumbo shrimp kebabs. Oh, you won’t want the shrimp.” 

“Chilli will be fine.” Mossarat held out a split sesame seed knotted roll for Nahele to deposit a perfectly fired burger on top. 

“Ahah.” Danny pricked his ears. “Dr. Bundaberg and Connor are coming.” 

“Have they been here before?” Chin asked. 

Danny shook his head. 

“I’ll show them the way.” Chin headed off to greet the new guests. 

“Steve, what do you want?” Danny asked. 

“Hmmm. I’d like a brat, actually--” He looked a little surprised by his choice, “--with ketchup and onions, no mustard.” 

Danny selected a perfectly browned brat and proceeded to build the perfect hot dog, albeit the lack of mustard was a travesty. He set three jumbo shrimp on the edge of the plate, since Steve was incapable of declining seafood. The salmon would go better with Chin’s delicious salads for round two. Danny himself was going to have a burger or five. He set the plate and a napkin by Steve’s side. 

“Perfect timing,” Dr. Grumpy announced as he stepped onto the decking, with the help of Connor Farrington-Smith’s hand under his elbow. 

“Hi, sir,” Steve said. “You okay?”

“Just twisted my hip.” 

“All yours.” Kila launched out of the padded armchair he had called dibs on earlier. 

“That’s okay, son,” Bundaberg began. 

“My pleasure,” Kila said, and moved to the barbecue for seconds. 

Bundaberg huffed grumpily. 

Danny grinned at him. 

“Châteauneuf-du-Pape and Maior de Mendoza, Albariño.” Dr. Bundaberg thrust a bottle of red wine, and a deep blue, barely translucent bottle, which Danny assumed was a bottle of white wine into his hands. “I’ll have a glass of the red.” 

“I’ll crack it straight away,” Danny said. 

“Lemon cheese cake.” Connor held up his expensive, beribboned, cakebox offering. “I’ll have some after the burgers.” 

Bundanberg huffed at him. Danny could have put his grumpiness down to having a sore hip, but really it was just the way that the elderly gentleman rolled. He carefully levered down into Kila’s abandoned chair. 

“What would you like to drink, Connor?”

“I’ll try the red. It sounds interesting.” 

“Mossy?” 

“Juice. Orange or mango, if you have it.” 

“We have mango.” Danny knew that Mossarat liked a glass of mango juice, and then she would switch to sparkling water. “Steve?” 

Steve munched on his shrimp contemplatively. “I’ll try the red?” 

“I should have brought two bottles.” Bundaberg carefully shifted in the chair, pulling at a cushion under his hip. “The white’s very good, you know.” 

“White, then,” Steve said easily. 

Snorting, Danny headed into the kitchen to get the corkscrew, and the good quality crystal glasses, because he got the distinct impression that Dr. Grumpy would not be happy with the unbreakable Pyrex glasses that they usually used when eating on the lanai. 

             ~*~

Danny froze, his entire body turned like an antennae. Ears, skin, eyes, and smell attuned. 

“Danny?” Steve said quietly, reading concern. There was a sound of roaring of over-hyped engines. 

“What in the name of--?” Danny strode off. 

Steve already had his crutch and lurched after him. 

“Chin?” Steve didn’t know if he needed back-up, but he preferred not to need it, rather than not have back up. “Kono, house. Everyone else, stay back here. Kila look after George.”

Kila grabbed George by the back of his dungarees and snatched him up, before the toddler could race after his Danno. 

“No!” George protested loudly, arms windmilling. 

Chin offered Steve a shoulder so they could make double time. Danny wasn’t running but he was making speed at a rapid, bantam-angry strut. At the front of their house, three SUVs with ridiculously oversized wheels blocked their driveway and their visitors’ cars. The cars’ engines were still running. At the head of the cavalcade, a short man, lithely muscled, dropped out of the high cab onto the pebble-dash driveway. Other men, not a single woman, rolled out of the other cars like clowns at the circus. Steve counted fifteen. 

Steve didn’t recognise him, but he knew the vehicle type and with whom they were normally associated. The guy at the front was a local, and heavily tattooed. He paused a long moment regarding them. 

“Cross that boundary, and you won’t like what happens.” Danny’s finger came up as he stopped on the garden path. 

The flower trellis gate marked the boundary. 

Steve ratcheted to a halt behind Danny. Chin made sure he was steady before letting go. 

The intruder’s wide nostrils flared but he did stop before the gate. One point to Danny, Steve thought. 

“Who are you?” Danny demanded. His fingers brushed his hip, but he wasn’t wearing his weapon. His hand clenched into a fist. 

“Kawika,” Chin supplied from Danny’s other side. “Leader of the Kapu. Kawika, Detective Danny Williams. ” 

“The what?” Danny asked.

Steve knew that Danny was quite aware of who the Kapu were on the islands, he just liked to play ignorant, especially if it annoyed people. But what was more interesting was that Chin didn’t introduce Danny as the Sentinel of Hawai’i, to one who considered his role was also to protect the islands. Leader of the Kapu? Steve thought that the leader was an older guy called Miceh Two Wheels.

“We came to speak to the alaka'i,” Kawika said. 

“Alaka'i? There’s no one here called Alaka'i.” 

“You know who I mean, the Kānaka maoli alaka'I.”

“He means Nahele.” Steve hopped up so they stood shoulder to shoulder before the rank and file of Kapu. 

“Make an appointment,” Danny said nastily “Oh…. No… you don’t get to make an appointment with a fifteen year old, who’s my ward. You make an appointment with me, down at the H50 headquarters, not at my home with a bunch of goons with you.” 

Steve didn’t facepalm, but it was a close thing. People didn’t make the Kapu come to them, so Kawika of the Kapu coming to Danny was actually something close to an open hand. But Danny didn’t know that. However, coming to their home unannounced was high-handed. 

Jesus. 

Any rate, Nahele was Steve’s ward, by declaration of intent and guidehood (which was a word). 

“Why do you want to speak to Nahele?” Steve asked tone flat. 

Kawika lifted his chin. He had a groomed goatee, Steve instantly hated him -- another pretentious fuckwit who thought that they had agency. Steve rated the threat level as moderate, mainly because of the goons that Kawika had brought with him. They bristled with anger, fuelled by little thought and confidence in their place, which led to arrogance. 

“He’s Hawaiian, Kānaka maoli, I have a duty to make sure that he’s being treated well.” 

Kawika might as well have lit a match and set it to a Danny touch-paper firework. Part of Steve wanted to see what happened next. 

“I’m kind of stunned at your arrogance, Kawika.” Danny stalked forwards. “You come into my home, you invade our family gathering. You’re implying that the newest member of my family is being abused. What gives you the right?” 

Steve had to give props to Kawika, he didn’t _look_ intimidated. 

“There is a place for Nahele Huikala in the Kapu,” Kawika said. 

Right, so the Kapu knew Nahele’s name. Steve really didn’t like that. 

“No,” Nahele voice rang out. 

Steve spun on his good foot. The kid stood on the veranda, Kono at his back. By the cant of her hip, Steve knew that she was now armed. She had a hand on Nahele’s shoulder stopping him running forwards. Adam peered around the door behind them, looking a little shell-shocked. 

Fear churned around Nahele, a storm front of grey and black roiling clouds. Abruptly, they billowed high, collapsed under their sudden weight and rolled down the steps towards them. 

Steve cast -- that was the only word that he could put on it -- he cast a scintillating wall of dense chaff, which fractured the wave of empathic misery that Nahele was projecting. Steve saw sharp, bitter and defensive shells of emotion fragment into wisps as they impacted with the chaff. The cloud of misery dissipated in one blink. 

If that wave had hit the Kapu members, the consequences would have been explosive. 

Nahele fixed wide-eyed, horrified eyes on Steve’s. He breathed heavily, in and out, like a train. 

“Nahele,” Steve said softly. 

Nahele came down the stoop stairs like a rocket. Danny moved. Steve wasn’t too sure to do what, since he didn’t have a gun, but his stance was all about defence. There was a guy at the back of the crew of Kapu, who Steve thought was carrying, but Nahele, was in his space, burrowing in. Steve dropped his crutch, and hauled the kid against his side. Touch brought an onslaught of feelings. Nahele was scared. Scared of being taken away when he had just found a safe haven in a storm-tossed ocean. 

“Ssssssssh,” soothed Steve, remembering being this young, this scared, this vulnerable to the whims of others. He raised his mental defences around them. He was an island castle fully armed and ready to smite the invaders outside his rocky shores. 

“He shouldn’t--” a Kapu by the far SUV protested, disgust in his voice. 

“Drop it,” Steve growled, focusing intent on the goon. He would have happily made the thug piss himself. 

The old school Beretta fell from his hand to the path, and luckily didn’t go off. 

Danny was toe-scuffingly close to the gate, inches away from Kawika on the other side. 

“You come to our home, uninvited,” Danny said. “You bring weapons to a home where there are children. My son, my daughter, my friends’ children.”

“He has a permit to carry,” Kawika said. 

“It’s revoked,” Danny said flatly. “You can’t think for one second that coming here was a good idea. I suggest you go now, before I get angry.”

Kawika wasn’t a man to step down, especially when pride was involved. 

“Who told you Nahele was under our protection?” Steve asked. _Tell me._

“Anonymous tip,” Kawika said, surprising himself. He blinked. 

“You’ve been played, Kawika,” Steve realised. “Someone wound you up, and pointed you in the direction of our home, like a badly designed explosive. Maybe they wanted you to hurt us. Maybe they wanted us to hurt you.” 

Danny was on his tip-toes, scanning the immediate area. 

Kawika had been manipulated. Press the right buttons: a native Hawaiian guide; a kid at risk, and haoles keeping him against his will. His crew were thuggish and he seemed to be a hot-head. Recipe for disaster. The question was, was guide-level manipulation involved, or a calculated application of buttons?

Steve breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Now, the mental click to see auras was simply a change in focus, akin to looking close at text or far away at a ship on the horizon. Kawika was as complex as everyone that Steve _looked_ at. At the moment he was angry, but holding on to his temper with clenched teeth. Reds, oranges and a central core of ice-white-blue swirled around his compact form. The mess of colours were sullen and miasmic rather than spikey. 

Forced to act this way? Steve erred towards thinking not because Kawika was listening, despite Steve’s initial impression of him being a hot-head. Great. Steve soft pinged the general area identifying people by the flare of their auras. No watcher hid in close proximity watching to see if there was any fall out. One of his crew could have come with the intel. 

“Letter, phone call, voice mail message? What?” Danny demanded. 

“Phone call,” Kawika said grudgingly. 

“Who from?” 

“Number withheld.”

“Man, woman? Mainlander or local?” Danny rapped.

“Man. Croaky, sounded like a smoker.” 

Good way of hiding any accent. 

“And you just rushed out here,” Danny’s voice was rife with contempt. 

“For the Kānaka maoli alaka'I. He has a place with the Kapu. He can be protected.” 

Nahele stepped away from Steve’s support. He stood tall, flushed and breathing hard. 

“I didn’t have a place when my father left. I didn’t have a place when my mother died,” Nahele grated. “I didn’t have a place when social services came and took me away. Your ‘place’ is based on my value as a guide.”

Bitter didn’t begin to cover his tone. 

“Alaka'I,” Kawika began. 

“No,” Nahele intoned, deep and resonant. “I’ve been homeless. I’ve been on the streets. Never again.” 

Steve held him even closer. Nahele had been homeless, Steve hadn’t known that before. Poor kid.

“Alaka'I,” Kawika said again. 

“Go away.” Nahele bit his bottom lip. 

_Yeah, go away._ Steve backed up Nahele’s wish. 

The spine-tingling wail of police sirens interrupted. Four patrol cars raced down the road, screeching to a halt. They blocked in the Kapu vehicles. 

“About time,” Danny said. 

“Freeze!” Kono snapped from the veranda. 

The Kapu member with the Beretta froze mid-crouch, caught reaching for the gun. 

Kono had a wicked aim. She stood stance perfect, Kapu in her sights. 

Duke Lukela emerged from the first cop car. Steve acknowledged his appearance with the tilt of his chin. The cop was respected and well-known throughout O’ahu. He was a good choice to bring to any fray, especially H50-fuelled dealings. 

“I’m deliberating – what charge? Disturbing the peace?” Danny smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile. 

Kawika glared. It was a wonder that Danny didn’t spontaneously combust. 

“We’ll go,” Kawika said. 

“The dude with the gun, isn’t,” Danny said loudly. “His permit is going to be checked, thoroughly.” 

Duke walked around the Kapu giving them space, hand on his holstered weapon. He hadn’t flicked the Velcro safety clasp securing his weapon. Lukela was an insightful man. Two cops moved up to the guy with the Beretta at his feet at his direction, not getting in Kono’s line of sight.

“Sentinel Williams,” Duke said. “So, care to explain?” 

“Hmmm, not entirely sure. A lot of posturing.” Danny puffed up taller. “Kawika has an issue with me -- Steve and I -- providing Nahele a home. I’m thinking that we’re haoles has something to do with it. I’m not entirely sure when the Kapu became social services. And it’s doubly weird since it sounds like they wouldn’t give him the time of day when his mom first passed.”

“Danny,” Steve interrupted. 

Danny subsided. 

“The Kapu are leaving,” Steve said, again with intent. 

“Not that guy,” Danny pointed at Mr. Berretta. “Take him in. Twenty four hours. I’ll come into the HPD tomorrow and have a nice chat with him.” 

The guy blanched. 

“We’ve got a celebration to get back to--” Danny deliberately turned so his back was to Kawika, “--with our friends and family. Duke, you’re welcome to stay.” 

Steve let Danny dismiss Kawika, and walk away. But he kept watching the man. Kawika was angry, and the storm of emotions was smoothing, but not in a way that spoke of calming, but of battening down the hatches in preparation for battle. He was going to hold his anger close and nurse it. 

“I suggest you find out who tried to make you swim upstream in shit, Kawika,” Steve said. 

Kawika stopped banking anger and weighed his words. He nodded tightly. 

Steve watched them go, and he knew that Danny was also watching despite his studied mien of I-don’t-give-a-shit. If he could see around corners, he could watch someone behind him. 

Chin reached down and gathered up Steve’s crutch and handed it across. 

“That could have gone better,” he said. 

“Actually, I think that it went better than expected,” Steve said. 

Nahele was watching and listening. 

Steve was used to dealing with hot-heads, but from the outset something had felt off about the incident. The emotions and thoughts were real, but the heights were inflated. The question as to whether a guide had been involved had not been answered. But the person on the other side of the phone call had known exactly what to do to fire up Kawika, new leader of the Kapu. 

What had they hoped to achieve? 

“Chin,” he said softly, crutching around, “I assume that HPD monitors the Kapu?”

“I couldn’t say,” Chin said. 

“Okay.” Steve raised a deliberate eyebrow. “If it exists, I want a copy of that phone call.” 

Chin huffed. “Tomorrow okay?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said graciously. They did have a party to get back to. 

             ~*~

“Danno!” Grace raced around the corner of the house and into Danny’s arms. 

He swung her around, gleefully, not once, not twice, but three times before setting her on her feet. 

“Did you have a nice time? Where’s Lucy?” 

It had been her first unsupervised visit to the movies. Albeit, Rachel had dropped them outside of the complex, and picked them up straight afterwards. Grace had been ridiculously excited at the responsibility of buying her own movie tickets. The plan had been for Grace and Lucy to come to the barbeque afterwards. 

“Lucy had to go home.” Grace shrugged. “We dropped her off on the way over.”

“Her mom was home?” 

Grace cocked her head to the side, exasperatedly, yet another sign of impending teenhood. 

“Yes, Danno,” she said singsong. 

“Is your mom coming in?” 

“Mom didn’t pick us up, Step-Stan did. He drove straight off.”

Danny didn’t growl, but it was a close thing. Okay yeah, fine, Grace was growing up – which wasn’t fine, but was inevitable – but the arrangement wasn’t to punt his daughter out of the car and drive off. What if the Kapu had still being here? What if –

“Gracie!” George screeched. He stomped over, pace a little uneven on the shifting sand. “Honi. Honi.” 

“What?” Grace asked, even as she knelt down to meet her brother. “Oh, honi!”

Danny wished he had a camera as Grace patiently shared honi with George, inhaling, a kiss, hug and an exhale. He smiled down at his babies, aware that the rest of his found family were also smiling at his son and daughter. 

“Okay, you banana.” Grace stood hauling George up in her arms. “You smell, you know. Where did you learn that?” 

“‘Hele.” George pointed. 

“Hi, Nahele,” Grace said. 

Nahele had met Grace earlier in the week. Danny had been careful to ensure that his oldest kid met Nahele outside of a gang of people. Nahele was going to be staying with them all the time, not at pre-arranged weekends or the occasional weeknight at the serpentine whims of labyrinthine custody arrangements. The view of preferential treatment was a bear trap that Danny didn’t want to trigger. Grace was perceptive and caring, but _well_ , he was her Danno and she didn’t take kindly to people encroaching on her dad. 

_::Hah, like father like daughter::_

Huh? Danny glanced away from the sweet tableau of his son and daughter, to Steve, now lazing on the hammock, Little K pillowed on his chest. 

Steve grinned at him mockingly. 

What? Danny lifted his shoulder in a shrug. 

_‘My dad, nobody else’s,_ ’ Steve mouthed. 

Danny didn’t understand what he was getting at, he wasn’t anything other than sensibly protective of his father. He was the oldest; it was his responsibility. 

“There’s plenty of food,” Nahele said, a little uncertainly. The coals were banked and a handful of burgers, vegetables, and meat were keeping warm. There was more than enough food on the table to keep the gathering satisfied until midnight. People were still grazing, as evidenced by Steve’s happily munching on yet another long line of skewered Teriyaki-glazed jumbo shrimp.

“I could eat.” Grace toted her brother over. “Is there any shrimp left?” 

Steve smiled cheesily. 

“Pah.” Grace set George down and grabbed a plate. Once filled, she plopped down next to Steve on the hammock and offered him another skewer of juicy shrimp. 

“Everyone okay? Malia, would you like another coke?” Danny asked. 

“Actually, do you have any tea?” 

“So much tea, you wouldn’t believe it. Camomile, some horrible matcha green stuff, a white one.” He looked to Steve. 

“Peppermint, dandelion, spearmint and liquorice, mango and lychee. And black teas, Nilgiri, Breakfast and Earl Grey.” 

“Where did you get Nilgiri from?” Mossarat asked, shifting to the edge of her seat in interest. “Matcha?”

Steve eyed her over the top of his sunglasses. _Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies_ , his expression said. 

“Right, I’ll have a Nilgiri,” Malia said. “Are you joining me, Mossarat?” 

“Yes, please.” She stood. “Shall I make it? Can I make it?” 

Danny snorted. He was an admitted tea philistine, and it was a card that he relished playing, especially to his ex-wife. Steve was the tea guru, and the coffee guru. 

“Kettle on top of the oven on the burners,” Steve said. “The teapot and the teas are in the cupboard to the right of the oven.”

“Would anyone else like a cup of tea?” Mossarat asked. 

Steve raised a finger. 

Bundaberg waggled his empty wine glass. 

“I’ll get you another wine.” Danny said. They had finished the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, but they had a small wine collection, courtesy of Steve’s nefarious contacts, despite the high taxes and the import duties. 

Danny followed Mossarat through the dining room study and into the kitchen. 

“It’s only tea, you know,” he said deliberately, as he got the teapot and the double-triple wrapped Nilgiri tea from the cupboard, and put them beside the kettle. 

Mossarat only snorted, not biting. _Man, she’s too smart_ , Danny thought.

Thinking on the sun wending its way to the horizon, Danny decided to prepare a couple of French presses of Kona. He and Mossy bustled comradely in the kitchen. Once the coffee was brewing he headed into the utility room to scope out their wine and select one that Bundaberg wouldn’t turn his nose up at. He carefully drew one which had sat close to the bottom of the wine rack since before he had moved in. Steve had _acquired_ most of his contraband goods while in the Navy, but he also received regular parcels from various places around the world, including the looked-forward-to smoked salmon around Christmas time. Danny slid the bottle back, guessing that, based on the thick layer of dust, it was valuable. 

“Know anything about wine?” he called out. 

“Not a sausage.” Mossarat laughed. 

“Very funny.” Danny let his finger wander over the wine rack and sort of randomly selected a heavy bottle in the middle to top of the wine rack. It was a little dusty. Guessing that a 2006 was an acceptable vintage based on the age, he took it back into the kitchen. He wiped off the dust with a rag, trying not to breathe any in. 

Mossarat had read his mind or actions and was setting up a tray with mugs and cream for the coffee. There was a second tray with some of Steve’s Grandmother’s Lani’s ancient porcelain teacups, which were so thin Danny meticulously avoided being anywhere near them. 

“Is it okay to use these? They were in the cupboard.”

Tiny Mossarat had probably used George’s step stool to reach them. The dedication to the Art of Tea was obvious. Danny was a sentinel, he got it, tea tasted better when drunk from fine porcelain. The same reason was behind why he had drop kicked Steve’s unbreakable, steel French press into the Pacific. And endured the _don’t litter!_ argument afterwards. 

“Do you need a hand?” Nahele crept into the kitchen. 

“Yeah, sure,” Danny said easily. “You wanna take out the coffee and mugs?” 

Nahele immediately went to the tray. “Uhm.”

“Yep?” Danny went for offhand as he levered the cork out of the bottle. He carefully sniffed: blackberries and tobacco. He didn’t _get_ red wine. It just tasted like how he imagined an ashtray, but a bit sweeter. 

“I’m sorry about the Kapu.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Nahele,” Danny said seriously, “not for one moment.”

“They came for me.” 

“And?” Danny gave the kid all of his attention. “You’re not theirs. You’re your own person. Nahele Huikala. And the only thing that you have to be worried about is school work. Okay. Okay?” 

“School?” he said uncertainly. 

“Oh, yeah, school is in your immediate future.” Danny chuckled. “You didn’t honestly think we weren’t going to enroll you into school.” 

“How is that going to work? I mean, with the guide thing?” Nahele picked up the tray. It was a valid question given the issues with, one, mundanes’ perceptions of guides, and, two, the reality of being a sensitive, empathically projecting guide. 

“Grace can tell you all about her private school and the small classes, and the very attentive teachers. Shoo, the coffee is getting cold.” 

Nahele shooed. 

“That’s going to be expensive,” Mossarat observed, as she poured just-off-the-boil water into the pre-warmed tea pot. 

“Nope.” Danny rocked back on his heels. “Talked to the school and they’re happy to give Nahele a scholarship place, as a local Hawaiian guide. Yeah, we have to get him the uniform and books and other extraneous stuff, but, well, the board is pleased to help the _Sentinel of Hawai’i._ ” 

“So you’re okay with using the local guide card?” 

“Hey, I’m pragmatic. Nahele needs to be in small classes where the teachers have the time and capacity to know their students. The local high school is actually highly rated, we thought about it, but when push comes to shove there is better security at Punahou School. We looked at the finances, it was gonna be a struggle, and we figured we’d try it on a year by year basis. Then Kila arranged a scholarship in our name,” Danny huffed.

“Played the local sentinel card.” 

“You--” Danny pointed at her nose, fingertip a fraction of an inch away, “--come across as quiet and unassuming.”

Mossarat gently pushed his finger away. “You have a lot of power, you can understand how that makes people feel.” 

“And with great power, comes great responsibility,” Danny quoted, as he stepped back. 

“Spiderman is always right,” Mossarat agreed. 

“You should chat with Kila, you’ll get on like a house on fire, he’s all about being inscrutable, and talking about different things when talking about something else. Steve thinks it is hilarious. I’m generally about making sure that people are safe.” Danny waggled the bottle of wine from side to side, which was probably a crime. “And if you want me to follow what you’re talking about just say it.” 

“Some people might resent that a guide can get a free place at an expensive school.”

“True, but the alternative is that Nahele won’t be able to get an education. He might not even be able to handle a mundane school with small classes.” Danny made a move towards the door wanting this conversation over. “We discussed home schooling Nahele, and we might have to. But he can't stay locked up in this house. How does that differ from 'Aina?”

“Which is why he should be allowed a place at Punahou School,” Mossarat said. “I just thought that I’d point out that you might get some trouble from getting Nahele a place.”

“Probably not, in all honesty. I'm not blind to the privileges that I have as a sentinel, and as the so-called Sentinel of Hawa’ii, but I don't think that this is abusing those privileges.” Danny sucked on his bottom lip. “I mean, I think I give a lot back to the community?” 

“You do, Danny,” Mossarat reassured him, gratifying quickly. “I guess I’m just borrowing trouble after those guys came. I can imagine someone saying that the place shouldn’t go to Nahele because he should be on ‘Aina.” 

“Probably someone will.” Danny hummed and hawed. “But a lot of people will be happy he’s here, as a, what did Kawika call him?”

“Kānaka maoli alaka'I,” Mossarat said, pronunciation perfect. 

“Super magical, local Hawaiian guide,” Danny pseudo-translated. “Come on, bring your tea. This is supposed to be a party.” 

“And it’s a lovely party for Nahele. I think that he’s going to be happy.” Mossarat smiled. 

“I hope so,” Danny said slowly. He shook himself. “I know we can give him a good home and a family.” 

He was damn certain of that, Steve would fall on his sword in the most grisly way possible before he let down Nahele. And it hadn’t escaped Danny’s attention that Steve had done something guidey while they had been facing down the Kapu. The reality was that Steve was still learning to guide, but he was learning and applying what he had learned every day, albeit somewhat haphazardly at times. He probably was the only person on the planet that could mentor Nahele. Additionally, through mentoring the kid, Steve would also learn. A tiny little voice pointed out that if he was helping Nahele, Steve would become a little more dedicated to discerning the mysteries of projective empathy. 

_Dedicated to discerning the mysteries of projective empathy?_ Danny was surprised by his own internal monologue at times. 

He followed Mossarat back to the lanai and presented the bottle to Dr. Bundaberg. The cranky old doctor accepted it and raised a fuzzy eyebrow. 

“Nice,” he pronounced, and eyed Steve. “Unusual.” 

Steve merely smiled. Danny had to chuckle. Clearly, because Grace had joined Steve on the hammock, George had seen fit to clamber up on his other side. Not to be left out, Ford had squeezed in between Grace and Steve. Steve lay in the centre, Little K on his chest, awake now, and burbling happily. The homemade hammock bowed under the puddle of weight, but SEAL quality rigging kept it intact. 

“Man, has anyone got a camera?” Danny asked. 

“Nahele, get on George’s side,” Steve directed. 

The bigger the pile, the better, Danny thought, as Chin handed him his camera. 

             ~*~

The clean-up had been a community event. Food packages had been parcelled up, including one for Max, who had been unable to attend. Danny had hoarded Mossarat’s baked goods, because they were his, _all his_. He had had his shower. He was clean after a long day. He was ready for bed, wearing only a freshly laundered pair of shorts. 

Danny made a final turn around the house double checking locks and windows. He had his routine. Grace, he could tell, was reading. Nahele and George were sacked out in their respective rooms. 

He ambled into his and Steve’s bedroom, ready for bed. 

And stopped, because Steve was sitting up, propped against his mound of pillows, arms crossed. Danny made sure to carefully close the bedroom door behind him. 

_Oh boy._

Danny refrained from opening up with a: _Yes, dear?_

“I think today was a success,” Steve said, “for Nahele.” 

“He’s certainly sleeping the sleep of content despite the thing with the Kapu.” 

“Hmmm.”

“You wanna say what’s on your mind, Steve? ‘Cause the--” Danny waved his hand in a circle, “--is making me have divorce flashbacks.” 

Steve scowled -- balefully. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t make a joke, ” Steve said. “We promised. We _vowed_ that we wouldn’t do the bed angry thing.” 

“Yeah? Not that that’s a problem, we normally don’t…. stew,” Danny said. Understatement of the year. Fireworks and foreplay was their raison d'être. 

What the Fuck had he done? Danny came up blank. 

“True,” Steve acknowledged. He nodded in the direction of the kids’ rooms, and wasn’t that a mind blowing thing. 

“Okay, so you didn’t want to do our blow out in front of the kids.” Danny pushed out his chest. “Lay it on me, Babe.” 

Steve’s nostrils flared -- this was serious. 

“I am an adult. And I can make my decisions about my own health care.” Steve lifted his casted ankle an inch off the mattress. “I have to let my ankle heal. There’s a significant risk if it doesn’t heal well, there will be ongoing issues, not least arthritis. I’m not risking that.” 

“I know that.” Danny had to say something, but he didn’t know where this was going.

“It was all fun and games, very funny, and Nahele was here to get me my crutches, if needed.” Steve sat up a little straighter. “But if the Kapu had come earlier, when you weren’t here, I would have walked. Whereas, if you hadn’t taken my crutches, I wouldn’t have needed to walk.” 

“That’s hypothetical. Sort of,” Danny said, and winced.

Steve held up his hand, palm out. “Don’t do it again, Danny. You cannot trap me without the means to defend myself or my ‘ohana.”

“Steve--” 

“I get that you want to look after me, and care for me. But I’m not your child. I’m not _a_ child. I’m your lover. Your guide. I am your partner. I am a god damn Navy SEAL!” 

Steve clacked his teeth together -- sleeping children in the house. 

Danny let out a breath. He turned the day over in his head. It had been a good day, but Steve was right. He sagged. 

“Danny,” Steve started again. 

“I get it. I get it. Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry,” Danny said, heartfelt. 

“Oh,” Steve huffed, sounding a little disappointed, “that was easier than anticipated.” 

Danny jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Grace’s room. Grace who he could tell was still awake and reading. She also had ears like a bat. Bantering and fighting was fun, with a capital F, but, well, yeah, Steve had a valid point. 

“Come on.” Steve patted Danny’s spot beside him. 

Danny crawled straight over the covers and dumped down next to him. He could have wiggled enticingly as he made his way over to Steve’s side, but it was hardly the time. 

“Sorry,” he repeated, because he was a man who could own up to his mistakes. 

Steve curled and arm over his shoulders, and smacked a kiss in his hair. 

“I feel,” Steve paused, “adult? Yeah, adult. I think that I handled that very well.”

“You’re certainly maturing,” Danny got his dig in, literally, and figuratively, with an elbow in Steve’s ribs. 

Steve wriggled, tickled. “Don’t.” 

Danny shifted under Steve’s arm to curl into his body. He tugged, and Steve slid down the pillows to lie supine. Danny knew the power of children in the house. When he and Rachel had fought, mostly, they had managed to do it behind closed doors or when Grace had been asleep. It hadn’t made their fights any less antagonistic and poisonous, but the need not to expose their daughter to the disintegration of their marriage had been a rule that they had followed without discussion. 

“I was very tempted to haul out the ordnance--” Steve said, breaking Danny’s thoughts. 

“From under the stairs,” Danny supplied, happily moving on from those reminiscences. 

“--when Kawika and his goons turned up,” Steve mused, “that would have shut them up.” 

“True.” Danny basked in imagining their response to Steve loaded for bear. “I think an investigation into the Kapu’s activities won’t go amiss.” 

“Already on it.” Steve oozed satisfaction. “Chin’s gonna speak to the HPD gang unit first thing tomorrow.” 

“Good. And I’ll interrogate that goon tomorrow.” Danny hummed introspectively. “So the Kapu is a gang, used to deal drugs, and then got involved with the surf clubs on the North Shore?” 

“As a brief prècis.” Steve moulded into Danny. “I’d anticipated interest from local groups, especially the Nation of Hawaii or Kakawelewele, but I figured Kila would officiate Nahele’s relationship with those guys.” 

“Kakewellywhaty?” 

“A i loaa hoi kakawelewele pono iki no ia manawa.” 

Manfully, Danny didn’t say _Bless you_. “They’re okay?”

“Yes,” Steve said, definitively. “We need to find out who wound up the Kapu.”

“You’re thinking bigger than just mischief?” 

“We haven’t announced that Nahele is staying with us,” Steve said. “So how do people know he’s under our protection? We haven’t, I don’t even know where to start, registered with Hawaiian Community Care, or something like that?”

“I don’t think that the agency that handles adoptions is called Hawaiian Community Care?”

“Whatever! How did whoever called the Kapu know Nahele was with us?” 

“The School? We’re in the process of enrolling Nahele,” Danny offered. 

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. He finally said, “I haven’t started the process of transferring his records. Or even finding his records. All the school knows is that I want to enrol a guide. I was going to take him in next week.” 

“Kila might have said something?” Danny didn’t think so. 

“Possibly, but he’s more likely to be circumspect. But I’ll ask him.” Steve pulled Danny in tight. “We’ll get a copy of the phone call. That should tell us something?” 

“So you’re thinking that was Sentinel Central?” Danny didn’t like the implications. “Might have been a guide knowing what buttons to push.” 

Steve shifted again, moving Danny like a pillow, and got comfortable, cheek on his chest.

“I’m pretty sure a guide can’t projectively influence someone over the phone.” He did, however, sound a little unsure. 

“Hang on—put your thoughts in order.” 

“Okay.” Steve gusted out a sigh, ruffling Danny’s chest hair. “One, SC, can go through the established routes to get Nahele back. Why bother including the Kapu in the equation?” 

“That’s worked so well with the SC petitioning the Governor to hand us over. Handing over Nahele? Political suicide with a cherry on top.” 

“Point. Two, I don’t know if you can projectively influence someone over the phone.” Steve ground his teeth together. “Villeneuve said something about the _voice_.” 

“The Voice?” Danny capitalised the word. 

“I dunno. I kind of got the impression that it was about -- a mechanism to projectively influence someone.” 

“You don’t do that.” Danny contemplated Steve’s fluffy head pillowed on his chest, because Steve’s projective abilities were not in any way categorised. “You just think it.” 

“Point,” Steve rumbled again. “So I want to listen to the croaky guy’s telephone message.” 

“What is the area of your effect?” Danny thought that was a good question. Steve froze under his stroking hands, thinking hard. 

“Apparently entire suburbs, and people who I don’t even know, let alone see,” he finally said, a little irritably. 

“Point.” Danny remembered one of the first times Steve had projected empathically. The calming promulgation had encompassed their street and blocks beyond. He had also gone borderline insane, passed out, and been off his feed for almost a week. “So you… as a PE… can think at people and make them do stuff. But can guides… normal guides…. use this Voice thing?” 

Steve rotated in his hold, scraping his bristly chin across Danny’s nipple, to look right at him over the plains of his chest. 

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Does your dad?” 

“To be fair.” Danny sucked on his bottom lip. “Dad could ask me anything, and I’d do it for him. Maybe the Voice is for complicated stuff? The suburb was just _chill_ , wasn’t it?” 

Steve gusted out a sigh. He flipped back around to plant his head on Danny’s chest. 

“I guess,” Steve said slowly, “I’ll have to think about it. You don’t use PE to make something solve a millennium Navier–Stokes Equation. It’s not about complex instructions, it’s normally chill, leave, stop, calm down.” 

“You don’t turn people into zombies,” Danny noted. 

Steve gripped Danny a little tighter. “Nahele,” he said changing the topic of conversation back to one with which he was more comfortable. “Kawika knew Nahele’s full name.”

Danny let the conversation tangent happen. 

“So we’re thinking SC or one of the rogue departments in SC, or we’re under surveillance,” Danny said, “but I don’t detect any close surveillance.”

“Surveillance from another player?” Steve said ominously. 

“Clearly someone wanted to stir up trouble, but no one was watching the face off. I don’t get that.”

“Wind up and point?” Steve mused. “It felt… it felt like it was an attack on our reputation. Kawika came here loaded for bear.”

“You need to talk to those other groups you mentioned— The Nation and the Kellywellywelly—and see if they received the same message,” Danny said. “I’ll interrogate the Kapu guy with the gun. Kono and Chin will start looking into the guy who contacted Kawika.” 

“Yes,” Steve said simply. “Tomorrow. First thing. Good.”

Steve moved again, Fidget McFidget, settling so that they shared a pillow, with limbs entangled.

“Oh, we’re finished now, are we?” Danny whispered, as Steve relaxed against him 

Steve closed his eyes, taking sleep down like an enemy -- threat processed, risk acknowledged, and mission parameters identified -- the change to relaxation was visceral. 

It was late, moonlight was filtering through the clouds, dappling reflected light on their blankets. They could hardly call the other guys at midnight. Danny contemplated the ceiling. He was tempted, very tempted, to start figuring out stuff now, but yeah, great way to piss off people calling them at midnight, assuming he could even get in touch with anyone. 

Tempting, though. 

 

_**Fin** _


End file.
